


Rumors

by Shinsun



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: 'Cause There's...Kind Of A Plot?, Explicit Sexual Content, Gossip Magazines, I Just Want Them To Experience The Joy Of Teamwork Okay Fight Me, Lack of Comprehension of the English Language, M/M, Not Quite Songfics, Not quite PWP, Talk Shows, Yes I Put Them On The Court Together Even Though They Play The Same Position, kind of, nba au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 10:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16700899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinsun/pseuds/Shinsun
Summary: Kagami and Aomine have moved on to the NBA, and now both play for the Miami Heat, but because of their considerable chemistry on and off the court, and Aomine's difficulty communicating in America without Kagami's help, they end up drawing quite a bit of gossip....And if everyone around them is going to assume they're sleeping together anyway, they might as well, right?





	Rumors

 

 

 

>   _I don't know where they're getting they news_
> 
> _But I’m not mad if tonight it comes true_
> 
> _Ooh, let's start some rumors_
> 
> _I’mma start some rumors with you, with you_
> 
> _I wanna start some rumors with you_

 

“Thank you, have a good day!” the cashier says cheerily as she hands him his change.

 

“You too,” Kagami replies, gathering up as many of the plastic bag handles as he can manage, before shooting a glance over his shoulder and switching to Japanese, “Yo, Aomine! Help me out with these, would ya?”

 

Aomine doesn’t give any indication that he heard, still glowering at the magazine display next to the register, hands in his pockets and a combination of frustration and annoyance written all over his face. Kagami sidles up to him with his hands full.

 

“Hey,” he prods, knocking their shoulders together meaningfully. When this still fails to yield any response, he follows Aomine’s gaze to peer at the magazines as well.

 

Both of their faces jump out at him immediately from one in the top right. Not that that’s worth remarking on, they’ve featured on the covers of various sports issues plenty of times, whether sweating in uniform mid-layup, or stiff and formal when appearing for exclusive interviews and the like. But he admits there is something different about this one.

 

He doesn’t remember this picture being taken, and there’s a covert, dishonest angle to it that makes him think he wasn’t meant to. He and Aomine are walking out of a restaurant together in casual clothes, the latter leaning close to his ear to ask him something, almost touching, but not quite. Aomine actually tends to do that quite a lot, having little regard for personal space and frequent occasion to ask for translation or clarification, being a stranger in a strange land, so to speak. Since his English is barely passable, Kagami has stood in for him for many exchanges, whether it’s ordering food or negotiating cab fare. It’s an entirely innocent and mundane occurrence, but somehow, this candid photo appearing on the front of what he can now see is a rather trashy gossip title makes the gesture look incredibly suggestive.   

 

“What does it say?” Aomine demands, in an undertone, though Kagami doubts anyone in the vicinity will understand what he’s asking.

 

He scans the headline again, and reads out in obligatory monotone, “ _The stars are out (in public!) tonight. Hot take on the Dynamic Duo, and other celebrity closet scandals, inside.”_

 

“So what does that mean?” Aomine presses, sounding irritated, which Kagami is able to recognize -- through much experience -- as his go-to response to confusion.

 

He rolls his eyes with an explosive sigh, “How should I know? Those tabloids are all garbage anyway, nobody actually believes that crap.”

 

“Are you sure?” A crease of stubborn skepticism appears between Aomine’s eyebrows, and Kagami’s already limited supply of patience runs out.

 

“Fuck’s sake, just grab the rest of the bags and let’s get out of here so I can make dinner, _like you wanted_ ,” he snaps, turning away from him, “You’re way too paranoid.”

 

Aomine’s eyes narrow, and abruptly, he snatches the magazine up and heads for the checkout.

 

“Oi!” Kagami barks, chasing after him, grocery bags knocking into his knees with every step, “What’re you doing?”

 

“Shut up,” Aomine mutters, slapping the garbage magazine and a bill that’s too large to bother breaking over it on the counter.

 

“You’re just giving them _business,”_ Kagami points out desperately, knowing full well that it’s a lost cause even as he’s saying it. Once Aomine gets his mind set on something, no logic or reasoning is going to sway him.

 

Letting out another deep sigh, he switches half his bags to the other hand, grabs the fifty Aomine put down and exchanges it for a five from his own wallet.

 

“Here,” he says to the cashier, in English, “So you don’t have to give all your change away to this idiot.”

 

“Hey!” Aomine snaps, offended and probably only picking the familiar insult out of what he said.

 

“Come on,” Kagami tells him brusquely, “Take your shitty gossip rag and let’s go.”

 

.

 

.

 

“They think we’re fucking,” Aomine announces, as he strolls into Kagami’s kitchen.

 

Kagami turns away from the stove and levels him with an unimpressed look, “What? Who does?”

 

“Whoever wrote this damn article,” Aomine says insistently, waving the magazine in Kagami’s face.

 

Kagami heaves an exasperated sigh. Of course he’s still on about that. “I’m sure you’re just imagining things, as usual.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Aomine retorts, voice rising in indignation, “I can read at least _some_ English, you know; it says ‘ _sex’_ over and over and ‘ _power bottom’_ at some point, if that doesn’t mean they think we’re fucking then what does it mean, smartass?”

 

“Wait, who does it say is a power bottom?” Kagami asks, forgetting his original intent to drop Aomine’s fixation with that stupid magazine and blinking at him in surprise.

 

“Hell if I know, it just jumped out at me,” Aomine scoffs, but now Kagami is interested, and switches the burner off before advancing on him.

 

“Let me see it,” he says, but Aomine jerks the magazine away and holds it over his head.

 

“I thought you said it was garbage,” he challenges, holding his ground, and the magazine out of reach, “You said no one believed that crap.”

 

“Aomine,” Kagami says flatly, holding out his hand. The height difference isn’t so extreme that he couldn’t just snatch the magazine away if he really tried, but he doesn’t think it’s worth a physical squabble in the kitchen to find out what exactly a couple sleazy reporters might be saying about them.

 

The mulish jut of Aomine’s chin is very nearly a pout, but in the end he just scowls and hands it over.

 

The actual article isn’t until page 18, over halfway through the magazine that is mostly stuffed with ads, catty product reviews and lousy sex tips aimed exclusively at skinny women in their mid-thirties. So when he finally does locate it, Kagami isn’t exactly holding his breath for anything substantial, but he’s some-the fuck-how still burning with curiosity over what Aomine said.

 

It’s almost disappointingly short, cramped into the margin of the page alongside another blown-up, sneaky shot of Aomine off the court, in shorts and shades this time, sitting on the same bench as Kagami and reaching one long bare arm across his lap. Logic and memory tell Kagami that he’s reaching for his water bottle on the other side of the bench, but without that context, it looks like he could be about to grope him.

 

Skimming the article reveals it to be little more than a bunch of bullshit stereotypes and (intentionally) misinterpreted subtext, which is about what he expected. Because sure, he and Aomine do spend a lot of time together, and are comfortable in each other’s presence, perhaps more than two straight men in America are strictly permitted to be; the standards of propriety are wildly different here. But they’ve known each other since high school, and now play for the same team together, and aside from all of that, being the only familiar face within a couple thousand miles -- the only one with whom Aomine can comfortably communicate, even -- it’s only natural that Kagami is often seen near him. Most days out of the week, Aomine will invite himself over to Kagami’s apartment just to have someone to talk to.

 

So none of that is surprising, and Kagami is about to hand the magazine back with a long-suffering “ _I told you so_ ,” when he lands on the specific line Aomine was referencing and his eyebrows shoot up.       

 

“They’re saying _I’m_ the bottom?” he bursts out, loudly, “Seriously? What complete and utter _bullshit --!”_

 

He looks up from the page in the midst of his fury, and promptly wishes he hadn’t. He doesn’t like the cunning look Aomine is fixing him with.

 

“Well…” Aomine draws out, with a maliciously teasing grin, as though he’s just struck a goldmine that will feed his taunts for months to come, “Under the right circumstances, I could see it.”

 

“Fuck you, there’s no way,” Kagami shoots back immediately, “I was totally thinking it was gonna be you, if it was in there at all.”

 

Aomine’s expression changes quickly, morphing into one of outrage, “What? You've gotta be kidding, you thought it’d be _me?”_

 

“That’s what I was fucking expecting, yeah!”

 

“And why the fuck is that?”

 

“Because you’re so -- !” Kagami breaks off, simultaneously realizing two things. One, he’s going to be in dangerous territory if he completes that thought out loud...and two, in the midst of their argument, they’d gotten up in each other’s faces, to the point of only being a few centimeters apart now. That last sliver of air between them is crackling with tension.

 

Aomine’s blazing eyes dart down for an instant, then snap back to Kagami’s own. His breathing is rougher than it was a minute ago, and it dawns on Kagami that he’s also panting for air.

 

This, too, has been commonplace for some time. Their clashes, both on the court and off it, always throw sparks and end with them facing each other, without facing the nameless _thing_ that set them off in the first place. But it’s not nameless anymore, is it? And the same instant that it hits him fully, Kagami feels a rising urge to laugh, because hell, it looks like everyone saw it but the two of them.

 

He opens his mouth to try to express as much, but Aomine immediately cuts him off.

 

“So what?”

 

Kagami blinks, “What do you mean?”

 

“You just stopped yourself. Because I’m so what?”

 

“I don’t...think I should say,” Kagami exhales, unable to tear himself from the dark, hungry eyes currently feasting on his own.

 

They squint a little at the corners as Aomine smirks, and then laughs softly, deep in his chest.

 

“What --?”

 

“Fuck it,” Aomine grits out, almost a growl, and the remaining distance between them suddenly disappears.

 

The feeling of Aomine’s mouth on his is different than Kagami expected. And fuck, he didn’t even realize he’d had _expectations_ before now, before the powerful heat of Aomine’s breath and firm, parted lips completely blow them out of the water. He kisses hard and desperate; no time for idle teasing or exploration, he cuts right to the chase, sinking his tongue in Kagami’s mouth as soon as Kagami gives him an inch and flicking it under his own. Kagami’s breath expels in a rush, and then Aomine’s hands are twisting in the fabric of his shirt, shoving him back.

 

Before he knows it he’s backed right up against the granite counter, with Aomine’s tongue halfway down his throat, legs caging him on either side like he wants to keep him from escaping. _As if._  

  

Pressing even closer, Aomine pulls Kagami’s bottom lip between his teeth, not gently, and lines his pelvis up to grind against Kagami’s hips, pushing the small of his back into the edge of the granite and drawing a low moan from deep in his throat. He can already feel himself getting hard, and judging by the friction he just felt, he’s not the only one. Aomine pulls away, his breath hot and rough on Kagami’s face, in the instant before he ducks in to press his lips to the side of his neck, sucking a mark into the skin.

 

Kagami groans, and his arms come up unbidden to wrap around Aomine’s shoulders. He realizes he’s still holding the magazine in one hand, and Aomine seems to realize it too, because he flashes him a wide grin when he comes up for air.

 

“Still think I’d be the bottom?” he gloats, looking pointedly at the mess he’s already made of Kagami, hard and panting and practically melted against the counter, at his mercy.

 

Kagami bares his teeth at the challenge, and stands up straight forcefully to put them on equal ground, “We’ll see.”

 

The smirk Aomine gives him is one hundred percent pure predation, and he starts to crowd him back against the counter, but Kagami doesn’t budge this time, slapping a hand over Aomine’s mouth to prevent him from protesting or kissing him again. Aomine’s eyebrows snap together, and he puffs out an irritable sigh through his nose, but doesn’t move.

 

“We’re not fucking in the kitchen,” Kagami says, stepping away from the counter with finality before he releases him.

 

“So...we are fucking, then?” Aomine asks as soon as his mouth is free.

 

“Shut up.” Throwing the magazine down on the counter, Kagami checks the clock on the stove, and then kicks the burner back to life, “If you want me to fuck you, go to the bedroom and wait for me. We’ll have twenty minutes.”

 

“Perfect,” Aomine grins, slowly, “But when you get there, _I’ll_ be the one fucking _you._ ”  

 

“In your dreams,” Kagami shoots over his shoulder, but Aomine’s back is already turned. Kagami watches him yank his shirt up over his head on his way to the bedroom, and feels excitement start to coil low in his belly.

 

Turning his attention back to the curry on the stove, he rushes through the rest of the preparation, and then turns the burner to a low simmer and sets a timer. Normally, cooking is a relaxing process for him, but right now he feels like every nerve is wound up, his heart pounding, the front of his pants drawn tight and almost painful as blood rushes south, feeding the erection straining against his zipper.   

 

He doesn’t know what he expects to see, when he leaves the curry to simmer and walks into his bedroom, but Aomine sprawled naked on his bed, eyes closed, one hand around his erect cock and the other already working two fingers into his ass, is _not_ it. How Kagami’s head doesn’t spontaneously explode on his shoulders is a mystery to him, and he’s positive he’s never going to get that image out of his brain as long as he lives, but his own cock jerking insistently against the constraints of his pants puts any doubts he might have about the prospect firmly to the side.

 

“I thought you said you’d be fucking me,” he says, just to make sure he can still speak coherently, because Aomine sure doesn’t seem very uncertain about his endgame here, if the fingers in his ass and look of determination on his face are anything to go by.

 

Aomine’s eyes snap open, and Kagami notices his cheeks are thoroughly flushed, but he doesn’t stop what he’s doing.

 

“I’ll fuck you after dinner,” he promises, voice a little rough around the edges but surprisingly lucid...and unsurprisingly petulant, “I got tired of waiting.”

 

“I can see that…” Sweeping his eyes over the work he’s done on himself, Kagami feels his own breath shortening in his chest, and finally he convinces his hands to stop fidgeting and go to the fly of his jeans, undoing the button and zipper in a daze so he can shove them down his hips. Aomine looks delighted, his gaze immediately snagging on the obscene bulge in his underwear, and he pulls his fingers out of his ass in order to sit up.

 

As soon as Kagami gets his underwear all the way off, Aomine’s hand is wrapping around the base of his shaft, lightly guiding him closer to the bed and licking his lips, staring down at the flushed head of his cock. He barely has time lean forward and drag his tongue along the slit, though, squeezing him through the foreskin with apparent fascination, before Kagami pushes him back.

 

“No time,” he grunts, unable to resist stroking his hands down from Aomine’s hard, lean shoulders to his chest as he presses him down onto his back. He’s seen all this brown, sweat-glazed skin and muscle before, but not like this, and he’s never gotten to reach out and touch, never even dreamed of it.

 

Part of him wants to savor this, to make himself believe it’s really happening, but the throbbing weight of his cock is urging him otherwise, and besides, unless he wants the dinner Aomine guilted him into making tonight to go up in smoke, he supposes he had better get to it quick. There’ll be time enough for savoring later...hopefully, if Aomine’s claim about returning the favor doesn’t turn out to be just for show.

 

Crawling over Aomine so he can reach for the drawer beside the bed, he fumbles around blindly for a moment before his fingers brush against what he’s looking for. With a miniature burst of victory, he separates an individual condom packet from the strip and tosses it onto the bed, and then grabs the lube.

 

When he glances down at Aomine, he finds him watching him with visible impatience, chest rising and falling harshly, his hand playing against his own cock again.

 

“Are you gonna fuck me or what?” he sneers, shifting his legs apart slightly in invitation...or demand, rather. His dick rests hard and thick against his inner thigh, a pretty, dark contrast to the lighter tan of his skin, and his eyes are hooded and glittering, trained on Kagami’s own.

 

“Lift your hips,” Kagami says, making a space for himself between Aomine’s legs and tearing the wrapper off the condom. Aomine watches with interest as he rolls it down onto his cock.

 

“What's that supposed to be, a sandwich bag?”

 

A startled laugh bursts out of Kagami’s chest, “No, dumbass,” he says, and picks up the lube, “I’m uh...allergic to latex.”

 

“No shit?” Aomine says, scooting back to give him room and raising his hips off the bed slightly, “Huh. I’ll have to keep that in mind for when we do it at my place.”

 

Kagami’s breath catches, even as he pours a healthy dose of lube into his hand, because that settles it; Aomine doesn’t intend for this to be a one-time thing after all. He can’t resist leaning up to press a hard, thorough kiss to his mouth in silent acceptance, while he rubs his fingers together to warm the lube and spread it around. And by the time he brings his slick hand down to slip between Aomine’s ass cheeks, Aomine is already moaning low in his throat, hungry for it, his thighs trembling with the effort of keeping his hips up.

 

Though he already made some considerable headway on his own, Kagami still makes sure his ass is nice and slippery before he even tries putting a finger in it. Aomine doesn’t protest when he does, just grunts softly in response when he thrusts it a few times before adding another. Once he gets a third in, however, Aomine curses against his mouth, the muscles of his neck flexing as he swallows thickly; getting used to the feeling, Kagami decides. And only when he settles does Kagami continue, carefully stretching him open and using the lubricant to his advantage.

 

“That’s enough,” Aomine grits out finally, his breath coming fast, “Hurry up already, you’re the one who said we’re short on time.”

 

“Relax,” Kagami says, but he’s not sure how long they have left either. He shrugs anyway, and withdraws his fingers. Worst-case scenario they’ll make do with something burned, or hell, they’ll order takeout, because he knows for a fact that once he gets inside Aomine, he’s not stopping for the fucking timer.

 

“I am relaxed,” Aomine retorts, his rapid breathing and neck muscles standing in high relief putting paid to the attempted bravado, “Just put it in me, dammit.”

 

Kagami shakes his head to himself, and bends down to soothe him with a kiss. He braces one hand against the mattress, using the other with the remaining lube to make sure his cock is extra slick before he brings it toward Aomine’s ass. He goes in slow, easing his hips forward a little at a time, much as he wants to thrust in hard all at once and keep going. Aomine makes a low sound against Kagami’s lips, but it doesn’t sound like pain, and he only breaks the kiss once Kagami is all the way in.  

 

“You still relaxed?” Kagami asks softly, while he gets a feel for the warm, tight inside of Aomine’s body, clenching down around him.

 

“Fuck you,” Aomine huffs, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

 

The corner of Kagami’s mouth lifts in a smirk, because that means he’s fine.

 

“No, _I’m_ fucking _you_ ,” he says, and proceeds to do just that.

 

.

 

.

 

They beat the timer, but only just, resulting in Kagami having to convince his jelly-like limbs to sit up, dispose of the condom, and grab his shirt and pants, before rushing to the kitchen to switch it and the burner off. After a moment, Aomine trails in behind him, in a pair of Kagami's boxer briefs and nothing else. He’s moving kind of gingerly, probably in consideration of his ass, but he doesn’t seem to have a problem with grabbing a handful of Kagami’s as he sidles up behind him.

 

“So you did go commando...nice,” he says, leaning in to mouth at the side of Kagami’s neck.

 

“Shut...you’re not even wearing _pants,_ shut the hell up!” Kagami bursts out, but he doesn’t move away from him. He didn’t expect Aomine to be so touchy-feely -- he’d barely let Kagami get up to save dinner even with the alarm shrilling at them from the kitchen -- but then, he probably should have seen that coming. That was what had gotten them in this situation in the first place.

 

And speaking of which… “You know the rumors are just gonna get worse now, right?” he says, ladling rice and curry onto a plate and setting it aside.

 

Aomine scoffs, and pulls his mouth away from Kagami’s collar, “Why should they? I’m not gonna tell anyone, are you?”

 

“You won’t need to,” Kagami sighs, because that makes one less question he wanted to ask, “People are already talking, and if you leave my apartment looking like _that…”_

 

Aomine glances down at himself, “Like what?”

 

Kagami’s going to assume he means _besides_ being buck-naked except for a pair of stolen underwear. He nudges the side of his head demonstratively.

 

“Sex hair, hickies, practically limping…”

 

“Who’s _limping_ , dickhead?” Aomine growls, scrubbing a hand through his hair hurriedly, and only succeeding in roughing it up even more. Kagami can’t help but smile at him in amusement.

 

“Never mind,” he says, “Just go back and put some clothes on, I’m not feeding anyone who isn’t wearing pants.”

 

Aomine grumbles something rueful under his breath, but turns around to do as he says. When he returns, he’s still shirtless, but he has deigned to get back into his jeans and has done something to smooth down his hair. Kagami supposes that counts.

 

They eat mostly in silence, Kagami shoveling food into his mouth at his usual breakneck pace, Aomine working through his steadily, with an occasional furrow of what might be actual _thought_ between his eyebrows. Kagami assumes he’s still thinking about how exactly they’re going to keep this new development from the public, and wonders briefly what that’s going to mean for the possibility of them continuing to do this.

 

When Aomine’s chopsticks clatter onto his plate, a mere two minutes after Kagami finished gulping down his own meal, he thinks he’s about to find out, but Aomine is smirking now, as he gets up from the table.

 

“Alright, my turn,” he says, hooking his thumbs nonchalantly in his pockets.

 

Kagami blinks at him, “What?”

 

“I said I was gonna fuck you after dinner,” Aomine clarifies, still casual and already walking toward the bedroom, expecting Kagami to follow, “So let’s go.”

 

At first, Kagami just stares at him, and then uncrosses his legs and gets to his feet as well, disbelief thrilling through him.

 

“You’re awfully sure I’m gonna let you do that,” he jabs stubbornly, but he thinks the grin on his face might tell Aomine exactly how little he means it.

 

“Fair’s fair,” Aomine sniffs, “I already let you do me. Besides, people can’t talk about me leaving your apartment if I never leave, right?”

 

It takes a second for Kagami to realize he just automatically assumed he’d be staying the night if they had sex again. ...Of course he did.

 

He supposes there’s no way he can kick him out, then...even if he did want to.

 

.

 

.

 

For all his proposed loopholes, of course Aomine had to leave Kagami’s apartment at some point. They both had practice, for one thing, and though it’s not necessarily any less suspicious for them to be seen leaving his house together, that’s what they did the first few times.

 

But it couldn’t be like that every time. The longer this went on, the more they saw each other, and the more Aomine began slipping in and out of Kagami’s apartment on his own in the night. And even if he wasn’t seen the first time, or the third time, or even the seventh time, at some point, he had to get caught.

 

“This is bullshit.” The scowl on Aomine’s face could probably crack plaster, and Kagami’s vaguely surprised the magazine in front of him hasn’t gone up in flames just from the heat of his gaze.

 

A trashy tabloid with a few blurry, rather suggestive but ultimately harmless candid photos in it is one thing. This time it’s something else. A well-known, reputable article, something people will actually see, and Aomine’s face is dominating the cover, a clear shot of him sneaking out of Kagami’s apartment at what _obviously_ isn’t a respectable hour. Even the expression on his face is shifty, and if one were to look close, a definite, dark mark is peeking out above the collar of his shirt. He’s been well and truly busted.

 

“It doesn’t even look like anything,” Kagami lies, waving it off and turning away from the display, starting to lay the contents of his cart out on the conveyor belt, “Come on, I’m making stir fry tonight.”

 

“You can _see_ the fucking hickey,” Aomine protests, jabbing the magazine with one finger.

 

“It could’ve been Photoshopped,” Kagami reasons, halfheartedly, grabbing a bag of carrots, “Or just a bruise. And anyway, I warned you this might happen.”

 

“Don’t give me that ‘ _I told you so’_ shit,” Aomine grumbles, without offering or trying to help. His hands have sunk deep into his pockets.

 

Kagami sighs deeply, expecting him to pick the magazine up and decide to exchange actual currency for it again any second now, “Look...if you wanted...if you didn’t...come over as often, maybe --”

 

“It’s not that,” Aomine interrupts, surprising him,  “I still...want to come over. I still want things to stay the same, I’m just sick of all these fuckers spreading their rumors around.”

 

He still hasn’t made a move to help unload the groceries, but he doesn’t seem inclined to pick up the magazine either. ...Kagami’s not sure what to do with that.

 

“Well I’m not thrilled about it either,” he says, “But this is America...we’re in fucking Miami; things are different here. Would it be so bad if…?”

 

“I just…” Aomine interrupts, “Want them to stay the hell out of my business. That’s all.”

 

Kagami waits, another bag of produce suspended in one hand, and finally Aomine just sighs out a laugh and reaches into the cart to grab another one.

 

“I guess there’s no chance of that happening now, huh?”

.

 

.

 

Kagami isn’t nervous, but he still keeps idly fiddling with the wireless lavalier pinned to the collar his blazer. The touch-up stylist has swatted his hands away from it at least twice already.

 

The thing is, though, the _thing is,_ he doesn’t often see Aomine put any particular effort into his outward appearance, and it’s difficult to keep his eyes off of him. Right now he’s dressed smartly in light gray slacks and a black knit sweater that should be _illegal_ for the way it gently hugs all the muscles of his chest, the sleeves rolled past his elbows to expose his long, tan forearms. His shoes are Italian leather, gleaming burnished brown under the stage lights. Kagami thinks he’s been staring at him for the better part of three minutes.

 

In fact, he’s so distracted by the way the bored tilt of Aomine’s hips makes the already form-fitting fabric stretch and crease around his slim waist that he almost misses their cue to go on.

 

“We have _two_ special guests for you tonight,” the host is announcing ecstatically to the audience, “Fresh off their third consecutive win in the championship playoffs, the Dynamic Duo; Taiga Kagami and Daiki Aomine of the Miami Heat!”

 

There is a cheer as he and Aomine step out on stage, the latter ambling in Kagami’s wake with his hands in his pockets, not even glancing at the crowd. As usual, he’s not making any secret of his disinterest in appearing on talk shows, no matter how cushy. It might be due to his general reluctance to do anything that involves waking up early and having to appear in public, or it might be the fact that he’s never really given anything to say, and can’t exactly ad-lib anything of his own without Kagami having to step in as a translator anyway. _Who’s to say when it comes to Aomine?_

 

“So great to have you both on the show,” the host continues, as they each take a seat in a squashy blue armchair across a quaint little coffee table from him. Like this is a comfortable, Saturday morning sit-down between acquaintances, instead of a pre-organized event.

 

“Great to be here,” Kagami responds, crossing one leg over the other and looking pointedly at Aomine, whose gaze is already settling elsewhere. He does this every time he has to share an interview, letting his partner carry the whole thing and putting in the barest minimum of effort to participate. And he’s still a fan-favorite. Go figure.

 

“Well to start off, I’ve gotta say, _congratulations_ on your victory in the playoffs,” the host says, beaming at them like this is a contender for the best moment of his goddamn life, “I saw the game myself, and man, whenever either one of you had the ball, I was on the edge of my seat!”

 

“It was a lot of fun to play against such strong opponents,” Kagami replies, the scripted sentiment coming to him easily, as it is genuinely true, “The Kings put up a good fight; we had to go all out to beat them.”

 

“It was a really great game, well worth a trip to Sacramento,” the host grins, “You both came to the NBA all the way from Japan, right?” He leans forward in his seat, all interest, as if this is somehow brand new information.

 

Aomine nods along with Kagami this time, from where he’s slouching back in his own chair, but his eye contact remains poor at best.

 

“How do you like the weather in Miami?”

 

“It’s hot,” Aomine says, his accent folding around the indignant statement and generating a smatter of easy laughter from the audience.

 

“I lived in LA for awhile during school,” Kagami chips in, sitting straight and smiling in order to come across as more agreeable. Not like _that’s_ a difficult task. “I’m used to the heat, but Florida’s a lot wetter.”

 

“So you have some experience living in America, then,” the host continues, latching on, “But Daiki, I understand this is your first time in a new country? How long have you been here?”

 

Aomine might as well be reading off cue cards for all the enthusiasm in his voice, “I’ve been about six months.”

 

“Well your English sounds very good,” the host says, and Kagami almost snorts to himself, because they all know full well that he rehearsed that, “Have you had any particular difficulty coordinating with your teammates because of the language barrier, though?”  

 

He can see Aomine struggling not to roll his eyes. He won’t while they’re on camera, but the slant of his eyebrows and the barest shadow of a sneer on his face strongly suggest, at least to Kagami, that he’d like to.

 

“Not really,” he says, stumbling over the hard ‘r’, and tilts his chin in Kagami’s direction to give him the floor, “Sometimes he helps.”

 

“I’ve kind of gotten used to being the translator for game strategy and such,” Kagami admits, taking up the scripted prompt, “But the good thing about basketball is you don’t need to say much once you’re on the court.”

 

The host smiles, “You two are certainly a force to be reckoned with when you work together,” he says, “But there’s been some considerable gossip floating around about your chemistry _off_ the court, as well. Do you have anything to say to those rumors?”

 

Kagami glances at Aomine’s blank, disinterested expression; he’s stopped pretending to pay attention and is now lounging in his chair and staring into space, resigned to just look pretty and let Kagami do all the talking. So, as he turns his attention back to the host, Kagami lets a slow grin cross his face and decides to go off script.

 

“Well...they aren’t just rumors.”

 

An instant of stunned silence falls, as he lets that sink in, and then, as he predicted, the audience erupts into a deafening roar. Aomine starts in surprise at the sudden explosion of noise, cheers and shouts and general disbelief rising in a massive crescendo, and whips around to look at Kagami for explanation.

 

Kagami smiles back at him and offers none.

 

.

 

.

 

“You asshole!” Aomine bursts out at halftime, storming up to the bench where Kagami is re-tying his shoes. A couple of their teammates look up from their towels and water bottles for an instant, because it’s not common for him to opt for English on the court, but his furious glare couldn’t make it more obvious who he’s talking to.

 

Kagami still feigns innocent confusion, looking around himself briefly before gesturing to his own chest and mouthing ‘ _me?’_

 

Aomine just snarls at him, so he gets to his feet with a resigned sigh.

 

“Alright,” he says breezily, “What’s so important you had to share with everyone?”

 

Aomine opens his mouth, visibly struggling to sort the volumes of his anger into unfamiliar words, and then snorts and switches back to Japanese, “You’re one to fucking talk,” he snaps, “You outed us to whole fucking country -- maybe the whole _world --_ and you didn’t even _tell_ me?”

 

“Oh, that,” Kagami says, tucking his jersey more comfortably into his shorts with a noncommittal shrug, “You said you were sick of all the rumors, so I put an end to them.”

 

“By _confirming_ them?”

 

“Well...they’re true, aren’t they?” Kagami challenges, holding his ground, “Unless you’re too afraid to admit it?”

 

“I -- no!” Aomine shouts, to his slight surprise. He’d expected him to rise to the bait, yes, but not to refute it so unapologetically. “That’s not the _point!_ Do you know what a dumbass I sounded like to the press just now?”

 

“You always sound like a dumbass,” Kagami says, in what he believes is a fairly comforting voice.

 

“Fuck you,” Aomine shoots back. Kagami grins.

 

“Been there, done that.” When Aomine’s nostrils start to flare, he takes a step toward him and continues silkily, “Still doing that, in fact.”

 

Aomine wets his lips, in what Kagami thinks is preparation to deliver a stinging retort that would probably lead to a full-scale fight if not for the ticking clock; they don’t have time for a lengthy debate, or a brawl, right now.

 

But Aomine doesn’t say anything, just grabs the front of Kagami’s jersey and jerks him over, ignoring his startled yelp of protest, to plant a firm, confident kiss on his mouth, right in front of the bench and the coach and the opposing team and the stands and the cameras and the eyes of God, in front of the entire goddamn world that just screeched to a halt in his wake. Kagami can’t breathe, can’t move, can only stand frozen in his grasp in a state of blank, short-circuiting shock, until it’s over.

 

“There,” Aomine says when he breaks away, unruffled and deaf to the screaming crowd and clamor of reporters in the background, “Now we’re even.”

 

“ _What the hell, bastard?”_ Kagami sputters, strangled in the back of his throat; he has no idea what language he’s speaking anymore. He doesn’t even know which way is up. “You can’t just _do_ that -- !”

 

“Why not?” Aomine snorts, “The cat’s already out of the bag, right?”

 

“Well --” Kagami starts, floundering and suddenly very aware of just how bright the stadium lights are.

 

“And we’re in _America_ ,” Aomine continues, insistently, “Where things are different, right?”

 

“I...yeah,” Kagami stammers, “But --”

 

“So what’s the big deal?”

 

Kagami looks at him, in all seriousness, but try though he might, he can’t seem to think of a good comeback for that. Not with the way Aomine’s lazy blue eyes are still focused on him, full of satisfaction and no small degree of smugness, completely unabashed. He arches one eyebrow in a dare, and Kagami finally just throws his hands up in defeat and walks back to the bench.

 

Fuck it. If Aomine really doesn’t have a problem with it, then he’s sure as hell not gonna be the one to make a fuss. In a way, this is what he was after anyway. In fact, by the time the game resumes, and he and Aomine step back onto the court together, he can’t keep the smile off his face.

 

The whole third quarter is up before the commentators remember they’re supposed to be talking about the game, when one of Aomine’s crazy formless shots barely beats the buzzer, and puts any speculation about his and Kagami’s relationship status firmly out of their minds.

 

At least for now.

 

Fin

 

 

 

 

 

> _No we don't care if somebody knows, body knows_
> 
> _People talkin’ that's just how it goes, how it goes_
> 
> _You know we love to keep them on they toes, on they toes_
> 
> _Yeah, let’s start a rumor tonight_
> 
> _If they ain't talkin’ we ain't doing it right_

 

**Author's Note:**

> [Rumors - Jake Miller](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z7HJx4U_B8Q)
> 
> Um...here, have this thing I've been working on in chunks over the past few months. I don't really have an excuse, I just heard the song and the idea appeared in my mind and wouldn't leave. And sometimes it's just nice to finally scratch a WIP off my list.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always a joy, feed the author! <3


End file.
